


The Host

by Tarlan



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Angst, Horror, M/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-10-31
Updated: 2002-10-31
Packaged: 2017-10-20 08:43:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/210892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarlan/pseuds/Tarlan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Chris and Vin seek shelter in a storm, they come across an old ranch house.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Host

**Author's Note:**

> Part of a Halloween Challenge.

The storm had sprung up out of nowhere, the wind driving the rain hard into their faces and adding to the misery of what had already been a wasted trip. Vin shook his head as he stared at the stooped back of the man leading, feeling a sense of failure wash over him.

They should have been riding back to the town in triumph, having finally put the ghosts of Chris' past behind them with the death of that bitch, Ella Gaines. Instead, the woman had leached away into the hills once more, leaving them with no place left to vent their anger except upon each other.

Vin chewed hard upon his lower lip, wishing there was a way to unsay the harsh words spoken in the heat of the moment. He knew Chris had meant nothing personal when he berated Vin's tracking skills, that it was just frustration talking rather than truth. Unfortunately, Vin had been just as tired and miserable at the time. He had roughly questioned Chris' continued quest for vengeance; a quest that was slowly eating the man alive and, somewhere amongst his words, something had hit home. Vin recalled the shock that leaped into the green eyes and then, far worse, was the way those eyes lost just a little more light. His words had torn away another small piece of Chris' soul and the man who hunched over the saddle ahead of him seemed even emptier than ever.

Vin cursed softly under his breath as another gust of wind caught him full face, sending icy fingers of rain trickling beneath the upturned collar of his buckskin coat. He flicked the rain-soaked strands of long hair from his face in disgust and then grinned in relief when he spotted the glow of a light ahead of them.

Vin nudged his gelding onward until he was riding by Chris' side and he reached out to touch the saturated sleeve of Chris' black duster. Chris looked at him and Vin felt his heart leap into his throat in shock. Blond hair was plastered across the gaunt face, but it was the lack of life in the deep-sunk eyes that brought a gasp of fear from Vin. He had seen Chris angry, happy, belligerent, fun-loving, but he had never seen this look of total defeat and resignation. Chris had the eyes of a man who was ready to lie down and die.

Vin pulled away from that thought in anger and indicated toward the light he had spotted up ahead. "We could see if they'd let us use the barn for the night. Get out of this rain."

Chris nodded mutely, and it was then that Vin realized that his friend had not been leading them at all, but merely letting his horse plod along the almost invisible trail. Vin took the lead, but he made sure he stayed close to Chris, suddenly afraid that if he went too fast he would lose Chris in the storm that raged around them.

The light belonged to a large but strangely dilapidated single-story ranch house, and Vin felt the hairs rise at the back of his neck as they approached the weather-beaten porch. White paint had once coated the outside but now that paint was peeled and spider-cracked, and what remained looked a sickly yellow beneath the glow of the lonely lamp. The hitching rail was broken with the crossbar snapped in the center; the still-jagged edges digging into the muddy ground as if something of great force had come down hard upon it. Streaks of dirt obscured the remaining glass in the windows, as if no one had cared to clean them for many years. Vin could make out a lace curtain behind one but it was torn and ragged, as if it had been shredded by some maddened animal.

Every instinct told him to ride on, and he looked across at Chris to make this suggestion, but the words froze upon his cold lips. Chris was still hunched in the saddle, too weary in body and soul to even raise his head. Vin needed to get them both out of this rain and he glanced toward the large dark shape that would be the barn. A flash of lightning illuminated the outbuilding and it dismayed Vin to see that it was little more than a shell. Only a couple of walls were still standing and the roof had collapsed, littering the ground inside with debris.

A soft shuffling sound caught him and he turned in time to see the door to the house creaked open, revealing a shadowy form. The man held up a lamp and inspected the two rain-drenched travelers. His eyes lingered over Chris' hunched form and, with a strange smile, he beckoned them both inside. They dismounted, leading the horses to the side of the house where a small lean-to provided shelter from the downpour and then they trudged back to the house.

Vin froze on the threshold as if something old and malevolent was pushing back at him, refusing him entrance, but Chris' steps never faltered as he moved inside. Gritting his teeth, Vin pushed against the darkness and followed the lean figure – and their strange host – along a small, dank corridor to a darkened room.

Inside, the air was stale with years of accumulated dust. The host lit two lamps, but the feeble light barely stretched a few feet from each source, leaving the musty old room ringed in dark shadows.

The sinister man leaned forward and soon there was a pitiful fire burning in the hearth; its weakly flickering flames added no real heat to ward off the chilled air but the sight warmed Vin's spirit. He slipped off his wet coat and hat, placing it with Chris' hat and duster, and then, reluctantly, accepted the dirty glass that the host filled to the brim with a pale golden liquid.

Vin sipped at the honeyed wine held in one hand, licking away the sweetness from his lips, but nothing could entice him to take his other hand away from where it lay close to his Mare's Leg. His gaze traveled the dusty room, seeing spider's webs everywhere. They were hanging from the mantelpiece, and between the pieces of rotting kindling stacked nearby, a testament to the lack of use put to this room.

Vin took several more sips of the wine, but when he went to take another sip he realized that he had finished the glass. It surprised him, as he thought it had been half-full when he'd last looked at it. He placed the glass on the small, dusty table standing beside his chair. Rolling back his aching shoulders, he decided it had to be his tired mind playing tricks on him, and then he stared, covertly, at his traveling companion. Chris had sunk down onto the nearby couch and Vin watched a long-legged spider skitter away into the shadows behind it. From where he sat, Vin could see patches of damp and mold on the worn and faded covering.

He glanced down at the seat he had taken close to the small fire, seeing the same signs of age in its moldy surface. Vin blinked, stifling a yawn. He gazed into the fire, mesmerized by the tiny flames and he moaned softly as the weight of this wasted day fell hard upon his shoulders. He looked over at Chris once more, and saw that Chris was also staring deep into the fire, his forearms on his knees, the glass of honeyed wine balanced between those slender, agile fingers.

The man came over and knelt before Vin, staring inquisitively into Vin's eyes and then smiling strangely, nodding his head in satisfaction. Vin frowned, but he could not find the energy to move, let alone say anything. Instead, he focused on the man's features; on the greasy, unkempt hair and hooked nose; on the cruel downward twist of thin lips that were so reminiscent of Ella Gaines, and then on the almost black eyes that also reminded him of that insane woman. The man looked no older than Chris, but there was something ancient in those cruel eyes.

Vin's heart began to hammer harder in his chest, his lungs laboring as he saw the malevolence behind those sinister eyes, but his limbs felt as if they were made of lead. He could not move anything except his eyes, and these followed the man as he moved across the room to sit down by Chris' side.

Whispers reached him as the man spoke softly and slowly to Chris in a low, mesmerizing monotone.

"You are so tired... so weary of this life. So much pain. So much hardship. So little reason to go on. Struggling each day with sad memories and despair. There is nothing left for you here. The future is so bleak... stretching endlessly before you. Alone. Lonely. So alone. So lonely. Such grief..."

Vin could see the words reaching into Chris, and he wanted to shout that it wasn't true. There was hope. There was life. There was someone who cared for him, someone who loved him.

He watched as Chris raised his head to stare deep into the blackness of their host's soul. More words followed and Vin whimpered softly, unable to make a louder sound and unable to move as the host explained how he would lead Chris to another room, prepare him for the freedom he would find in death. He described the violent way in which he would release Chris from this life, speaking lovingly of the razor that would slice across the man's vulnerable throat.

Chris did not even flinch as a hooked finger caressed the side of his pale, still-damp neck.

"It's all for the best. No one will miss you... for no one cares about you. And they will be waiting for you. Your loved ones. Waiting on the other side to take you home... for there's nothing left for you here in this world. Let me ease your pain. Let me guide you to them. Let me set you free. Just look deep into my eyes and be strong."

NO. NO. NO, Vin cried out silently as Chris turned to him; his pupils huge yet uneven, drugged by the wine and the mesmerizing words that drifted through the decaying room. The green eyes were large and luminous within the sunken hollows, and a loss of all hope filled them, along with a sorrow-filled resignation to his fate. Then they turned away from Vin to stare deep into the black malevolence of this soul-taker. Vin cried out anew as Chris accepted the hand the host held out to him, then let himself be led from the dusty room into the darkened corridor beyond.

Vin screamed silently, willing his body to move, and he sobbed in relief as he rose unsteadily to his feet. He trailed slowly behind the lean, ghostly figure, as if he was wading through thick molasses, but he never lost sight of the golden hair reflecting orange from the small glow of the host's hand-held oil lamp.

Chris reached the end of the long, dark corridor and the host pushed aside the thick, mildewed, wooden door. It creaked on rusty hinges, screeching out its displeasure as the host forced it open, and Vin tried to make himself heard as the two men step inside. With horror, Vin realized that the door was slowly closing and, something inside told him that if it shut before he reached it, then he would never find a way in. He would lose Chris forever.

With a cry of sheer terror and exertion, Vin threw himself prostrate, the door barely held ajar by the fingertips on his outstretched arm.

Vin crawled forward with frustrating slowness, the skin of his knees and palms tearing on shards of dirty, broken glass and jagged splinters from the rotting floor. He could see Chris lowering himself down onto the bed, raising clouds of ancient dust. The bed creaked ominously as Chris swung his legs over and lay his head down on the moldy pillow, his chin held high, eyes staring upward without blinking, as if he was already beyond life.

The rain had found its way into the dilapidated room, dripping through holes in the ruined ceiling, the droplets striking the tall forehead and sharp cheekbones with a slow, even thud. Rivulets of water course down the pallid face like tear drops. The howling wind drove the rain against the outside wall, filling the room with its thunderous drumming, and it sent the rain lashing against the spider-cracked window panes.

Vin used every remaining ounce of strength to rise to his knees, white-knuckled as he held tight to the bed frame, seeking to gain his feet. He watched in horror as the host held the cut-throat razor high in the air, its wicked edge gleaming in the lamplight as the razor arced down toward the vulnerable throat... blood spraying... splattering across his face... and Vin screamed.

"Chris!"

"Damn it, Vin. Can't a man get any sleep around here?"

Vin was on his knees by the side of the bed in the room Chris used as part payment for protecting the town. He was kneeling upon the damp, rucked up bedroll that he had placed there earlier. On the bed, Chris looked across at him in tired dismay at having his sleep broken; rubbing his eyes and yawning widely.

Vin looked down at his shaking arms and saw his knuckles were white from where he was gripping the bed so tightly. He heard the howl of the wind outside; heard the lashing of driven rain against the window and the drumming against the wooden walls. He released his grip on the bed and explored his face, finding droplets sprayed across it, and then he heard the slow, even thud and looked across to where the torrential rain had found its way into the musty room. Rain drops splashed against the balled foot of the bed, spraying outward to where his face would have lain while he slept.

It was water, not blood. Not Chris' blood.

"Bad dream?"

"Yeah. Could say that."

"I get them, too."

Chris lay back down and pulled the cover high over his lean frame. It all came back to Vin in a rush. They had been caught out in the storm earlier as they rode back to town after delivering a prisoner for the Judge, the icy rain chilling them both to the bone. They had been too cold and miserable to even bother with the saloon, and Vin had been grateful for Chris' offer to spend the night in his room rather than sleep in the wagon. Perhaps it was seeing Chris so bedraggled, tired, cold, and miserable that had fueled his nightmare?

Whatever the cause, the ragged edges of that terror-filled dream still held Vin within their tight grip. He recalled the insane words of the host; his thoughts clinging to the despair he felt at not being able to reach Chris with his own words. Taking his courage in his hands, he sought to banish that aspect of his nightmare.

"Chris?"

"Hmm?"

"You're not alone, you know. You've got a lot to live for, and you've got a lot of people who care about you. People who care whether you live or die."

Chris rose onto his elbow and looked down at Vin, his face showing both bemusement and concern at this dead-of-night disclosure. His eyes crinkled as amusement won out. "You sure you're okay, Vin?"

Vin closed his eyes. He knew what the nightmare was all about. He knew that the paralysis that had gripped his limbs and voice was the fear in his mind at revealing the true depth of his caring – of his love – for this man. He knew the malevolent host was the manifestation of his fear of losing Chris to a dark and tragic future purely because he was too scared to take a chance and fight for the man he loved, and wanted.

"Yeah. Yeah. I'm okay. I just... wanted to tell you that... that... that I..."

"That you love me?"

Vin opened his eyes wide in shock and focused on the soft smile that was barely visible in the light thrown out by the single lamp still burning in the room. "How did you-? How long have you-?"

"Could read you like a book from the day we met, Tanner."

"And you don't mind that I... want you in that way?"

"Hell, Vin... been counting on it. Just wanted to wait until you realized it, too."

"Damn it, Cowboy. How long were you gonna wait?"

"Long as it took." Chris looked up at the fast drip that leaked through the cracked ceiling. "Now, unless you'd prefer to sleep on a wet floor, why don't you come up here?" Chris threw back the covers in invitation, his eyes welcoming, his lips curling with the trace of a smug smile.

Vin chuckled softly, shaking his head slowly, and he crawled onto the bed, dragging the cover back over both of them. He laid his head down on the pillow, facing Chris, still not able to believe that this was reality rather than a pleasant continuation of his dream.

His hand reached up to caress the slightly-stubbled throat, remembering the gleaming razor that had slashed across it. He leaned in as Chris threw his head back, his lips nuzzling the slightly salty flesh and sucking on the Adam's apple that bobbed with each of Chris' swallows. Vin let go, his tongue licking across the vulnerable throat before his mouth latched hard onto the soft flesh at the base of Chris' throat. One of Chris' arms draped over Vin's waist – the hand splayed hard against the small of his back while the other arm curled around to cradle Vin's head, forcing his mouth tight against the intoxicating throat.

Vin could feel the thrum of life-giving blood surging through Chris' veins; his own heartbeat quickening as his blood coursed wildly downward, leaving him light-headed, but still he refused to let go of the defenseless flesh. He wanted to banish the image of that razor slicing through pale flesh; wanted to reassure himself that it was just part of a nightmare.

Chris' hand smoothed downward and cupped one ass cheek, clasping him tightly and drawing him harder against his firm body.

Vin pushed a hand between them, releasing several buttons before sliding his fingers beneath the drab pink underwear to touch the soft skin of belly and hip. He angled his hand downward and grasped the hardened shaft, fingers curling around the length, his thumb caressing the head with tantalizing soft strokes as he smeared the slippery beads of Chris' passion over the sensitive tip.

Chris moaned, the sound reverberating through Vin from the joining of his mouth upon that perfect throat, setting up a resonance that rippled to his own hardened flesh. He gasped when strong fingers wriggled beneath his underwear to wrap around his engorged shaft. Frissons of delight filled his mind, mirrored by the pleasurable sensations flowing to every nerve ending, his body and spirit melting into liquid fire as he basked in the knowledge of who it was bringing him to such exquisite completion.

His lips sought Chris, their mouths closing upon each other, tongues dueling and thrusting in time with their hips as they brought each other over the edge into mutual annihilation. Liquid warmth coated his fingers as Chris gasped out in pleasure, his muted cry consumed by Vin even as Chris devoured Vin's own cry of passion.

Vin trembled in Chris' arms as he came slowly back to his senses, fully satiated, and uncaring of the rapidly cooling stickiness against his belly. As his arms tightened around the lean figure lying sated by his side, Vin sighed contentedly, the last chills of his nightmare driven away by his sleeping lover's warm breath upon his face.

END

 


End file.
